Chapter Five
'What if Henry and I never met?'
Elizabeth typed the question into the app's text box—
"Just give her five more minutes." Blake's words to Mike reached her through the door to the Oval Office.
—and with her pulse bounding, she hit Enter.
A grey dialogue box popped up:
'No matches.'
She frowned.
What?
No.
That couldn't be-
She pressed the 'OK' button—though 'OK' in no way described how she was feeling—and when the dialogue box disappeared, she returned to the emptied text box and typed:
'What if Henry and I never dated?'
She hit Enter.
The dialogue box popped up again:
'No matches.'
But, wait-
That couldn't be-
Because, if-
That had to mean-
Slowly her frown lifted, in sync with the realisation that settled over her.
If there was no universe in existence in which she and Henry didn't meet, if there was no universe in existence in which she and Henry didn't wind up dating, if there were infinite realities and in every last one of them her being with Henry was a constant, did that mean…?
"We're soulmates," she murmured.
She felt stupid just thinking it. After all, if it were true, then how could Henry have left her? If they were meant to be together, then how could he just walk away?
But maybe soulmate relationships were like any other relationship: fate might have brought them together, but the relationship still required work and communication and commitment in order to thrive—in order to survive.
Her gaze drifted from the screen and alighted on State's Russia-China report, set next to the documents for signing and the files from Treasury that Blake had left on her desk. Miscommunication between two of the world's greatest superpowers had almost resulted in war, with the potential of it becoming the worst conflict in human history. If she were to be honest with herself, there'd been a distinct lack of communication when it came to her and Henry. One day he said he would be going to the horse farm for a bit—which was no big deal, seeing as he'd already stepped back from the role of FGOTUS—but then somehow weeks had passed, lost to lugging ESI over the finishing line and landing the Korean free trade agreement and then this bill and that signing and then war games and war games that weren't really war games and don't forget about the optics, and before she realised it nearly six months had gone by without him returning. She'd asked Blake to call him at the horse farm to see when he'd be back, but the fact she'd asked Blake to call rather than making the call herself said she already knew what she wasn't yet ready to admit:
Henry had left her.
And she hadn't noticed.
After that, she'd filed for divorce, had assumed that was what Henry wanted. Confirmation came when he responded to the papers less than twenty-four hours later, agreeing.
All throughout mediation, she'd thought about talking to him—thought about asking him how and why this was happening. But, in the end, she couldn't bring herself to.
Because the only thing worse than not having the answer was hearing an answer she didn't want to hear. She'd rather witness her parents' deaths in their infinite forms infinite times than have him tell her he no longer loved her.
So perhaps the question she really needed to ask the app, rather than trying to prove they weren't meant to be, was:
'What if instead of filing for divorce I'd gone to the horse farm and spoken to Henry?'
Because, without hearing the truth, without understanding how and why they had come to this, and—more importantly—without knowing she'd done all she possibly could and still their marriage couldn't be fixed, she'd never have the closure she wanted and needed, she'd forever be plagued by the question:
'What if…?'
She tapped the 'OK' button at the bottom of the dialogue box, causing it to close, returned to the text box, and typed:
'What if instead of filing for divorce I'd gone to the horse farm and spoken to—'
Knock-knock.
She jumped, and stopped, and her gaze leapt to the door.
The door handle turned and the door arced open, the gap it allowed just wide enough for Blake to pop his head inside.
"Madam President, I'm sorry to disturb you, but Mike B has requested that we get ready to leave for the hearing."
"Yeah, sure," she said, hurriedly, "I just need a sec."
Not waiting for Blake to duck out again and for the Oval Office to resume its privacy, she returned to the tablet, ready to finish typing the question.
But the tablet had vanished, leaving her hand empty.